We’re sitting in the car at Q and 15th, waiting for the light to change. There’s a coffee shop on the corner, with outdoor tables and a neon sign in the window.

“Mama, why do they call that place ‘The Naked Lounge?’ What is it?”
“Oh, it’s a good coffee shop—best lattes in town—“
“Why do they call it, uh—naked–?”
“I don’t really know—to get your attention maybe? There’s nothing naked going in there that I know of—”
The light changed to green , thank goodness, as both my daughters peered into the dark cafe to see what exactly might be happening in the Lounge.
We then turn left onto 16th Street, and the corner ad there proclaims “Hot Italian” alongside a sexy black and white enlarged photo of Sophia Loren. My husband gives me that look, the out-of-the-corner-of-the-eye look, and we both laugh.

Which comes first–a naked lounge, or a hot Italian? Whatever–I’ll take mine hot, and to go, please. Keep the change.